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Elijah snorts. “Steak and top-shelf liquor, should have known.”
“Anyway,” I continue, ignoring his comment. “That’s where I met her. I saw her from the doorway, sitting alone, and I just knew I had to go speak to her. Can’t explain it, just felt the pull, you know? There was this reception table where guests were supposed to sign in and there were name tags, which I thought was weird because it was a wedding, not a corporate retreat. But I grabbed one and went right in.”
“Who were you?” Maddox asks, immediately homing in on something I hoped to avoid.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Charlie.”
“Yeah, but Charlie what?” He grins at me, and I wonder if he somehow learned to read minds at some Buddhist retreat in Nepal or whatever the fuck.
“Charlie Cockburn-Cummings, all right?”
Howls of laughter break out around the room, and I have to join in. It is, after all, fucking funny.
“I’m not surprised he wasn’t there,” Elijah says, his lips twitching in a smirk. “He was probably too embarrassed.”
“Yeah, I think I met him once in line at the clap clinic!” Mason adds between guffaws. “He needed some cream for his cock burn.”
Maddox tries to stay calm and maintain his zen, but eventually he cracks too. “Maybe he was English,” he adds.“Nobody would bat an eyelid at that kind of name in England. When I was there, I met a dude called Nathaniel Gildenballs, I kid you not. Anyway, carry on, Drake. Charlie. Whoever. You crashed a wedding and picked up a one-night stand?”
That’s about the size of it. “Yeah. I mean, I kind of knew the couple—Tucker McDaid, who I think works for the Attorney General’s office, and Emily Gregor? She looked familiar too.”
“I know Emily,” Elijah says. “You’ve all kind of met her, or at least been in the same room as her. She sits on some of the same charity boards as Amber. She’s one of those women I know without really knowing.” He shrugs. “I’m guessing it was a pretty good wedding party?”
“It was, if you like that kind of thing. The main attraction for me was this girl, though. She was in the wedding party, still wearing this purple dress that was clearly uncomfortable. Seriously, it looked like she wanted to crawl out of her skin. So I took my Scotch and sat next to her, and…” I find myself lost in the memory for a moment.
“And?” Maddox prompts, leaning forward, his interest piqued. I’m not surprised. I never talk like this. I neverfeellike this. What the fuckisthis?
I shake my head, snapping myself back to the present. “And we ended up talking for hours. We danced a little. Then we found ourselves in one of the gardens behind the hotel. One thing led to another, and…”
“And you tied her up with a conveniently placed garden hose?” Nathan suggests with a falsely innocent expression.
I roll my eyes. “Quit with the fucking rope jokes, asshole. Don’t make me regret telling you about that. No, we just… connected. And yeah, I know, I’m the one who sounds like I watch too much Netflix now. She came back to my room, and that’s as much as you pervs are getting.”
My brothers exchange glances, clearly taken aback by my uncharacteristic sentimentality. By my standards, that was like a declaration of love.
“So, you actually talked to her before you banged her?” Mason asks, his tone less teasing now and more genuinely curious instead. “Did she stay the night in your suite, or did you kick her out the minute you shot your load?”
Fuck. I probably should have done the latter. “Yeah, we talked, and yeah, she spent the night. And no, I’m not giving you any more details.”
“Bro, she sounds great. Seriously, why didn’t you get her number?” Mason asks, frowning.
“What makes you think I didn’t?”
“Your fucking face, man. You’re trying to play it cool, but the way you’re talking about her… It’s like you know you’ll never see her again.”
I shrug, trying to act unconcerned even though he’s one hundred percent right. “You know me. I don’t do relationships. It was just a one-night deal, that’s all.” But even as I say the words, I can feel something gnawing at my gut. Regret, maybe? Something I don’t recognize, anyway. Something I’m not sure I like.
How the hell did Amelia manage to get under my skin like this after only one night? No other woman has ever had this effect on me, and I have no fucking idea what to do about it.
Chapter
Seven
AMELIA
Kimmy Park and I have known each other since first grade. Back then, she was obsessed with a boy in our class named Jamie Jessop and followed him around like a puppy, trying to get him to kiss her. Being a seven-year-old who was more interested in collecting Pokémon cards than having a girlfriend, poor Jamie was horrified. The only way she could have gotten his attention was if she’d dressed up as Pikachu and yelled, “I choose you!”
We’re both in our early thirties now, but Kimmy still has the exact same approach to sex—if she sees someone she likes, she goes for it. Although she’s a lot more successful these days. Her whirlwind of a love life has always left me dizzy. It certainly helps that grown-up Kimmy is drop-dead gorgeous and ultra confident. She’s the kind of woman that makes members of both sexes go cross-eyed when she talks to them. We should all be more like Kimmy, I think as I sit opposite her in the latest bar to open in my neighborhood. I don’t fail to notice that only last night I was wishing I could be more like Emily, and now Kimmy—what is wrong with me? Why can’t I be happy just being Amelia?